A/N : This fic wouldn't even be possible without the incredible amount of virtual hand holding and beta-reading from MsBinns. Thank you.
This is a follow up of 'In Noctem' and second part of what I intend to be a trilogy. Both fics can stand on their own and be read separately.
So she kisses him and doesn't let go of him until sunlight shines through the thick curtains of the common room.
Now we live.
She vaguely hears someone clear their throat nearby. Then it becomes a loud forced cough and she realises that Harry is awake and standing near them.
They break apart and Ron flashes her a silly grin that suddenly makes him look much younger than he is. Her heart does somersaults in her chest, and she buries her head in his neck laughing embarrassedly.
"I...erm - I mean - I'll be going down, trying to find something to eat, see if anyone needs help," Harry says, not quite looking at them, but slightly smirking nonetheless.
They sit up, Ron's left arm loosely wrapping around her waist, and it feels both widely familiar and foreign. She can't explain it.
"We'll come with you," she states as she lifts her chin and clears her throat, looking Harry straight in the eyes and trying to will her flushed cheeks to regain their normal colour.
Ron, next to her, nods quietly, seeming lost in his thoughts.
She stands up and offers him her hand. The war is over, they went through a lot and it will take a long time to process it all. Maybe their entire lifetime won't be enough for that.
With a renewed hope only morning sunlight can bring, she fights back the tears she wants to shed on their innocence lost and focus her mind on building their lives.
They can do anything.
...
"You didn't tear me away from my family Hermione," he runs his hand through her hair pausing only for a moment before speaking again, "I wasn't going to let you go through getting your parents back alone."
After that, she takes his hand and leads him back to bed.
She wakes up with his body flushed against her back and his breath tickling the hair at the back of her neck.
She grins foolishly when she notices that his right hand is holding her left breast. With a tiny laugh and a now familiar tingling longing in her womb, she removes his hand and kisses it tenderly before getting slowly out of bed as to not wake him up.
For a minute, she's afraid she has, but he just grunts and buries his head deeper in the pillow, a lazy smile plastered on his peaceful face.
She grabs clean clothes quietly and goes to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. When she arrives downstairs in the kitchen though, Ron is already up and her parents are sitting at the table enjoying breakfast and chatting gingerly. Ron is leaning against the sink, much like last night and she is invaded by a sudden warmth at the sight.
Her parents and Ron.
Her family.
...
That night she lies in bed, and snuggles into the jumper she stole from Ron over the break. It still smells like him. She falls asleep with a smile on her face.
She wakes up drenched in sweat in the eerie hours of the morning, the sun barely up. The first nights away from Ron are always the hardest. Although she isn't sure it is ever easier.
She has realised that the nightmares are stronger without his comforting presence next to her, but she also knows that they are nearing the anniversary of their capture at Malfoy Manor. Even if it's still months away, she can't shake the dreadful feeling installing itself deeply within her core.
She feels weak. She wishes she could curl back under her covers, Ron's smell flooding her nostrils, and stay there until March has come and gone.
But then, May will be sooner and she doesn't even want to try to imagine what that month will be like.
She closes her eyes, and all she sees is death and curses and blood. Her fingers are going numb, a tell tale sign she recognises. Soon, she will be a foreigner of her own body, she will be trapped in the worst of the nightmares she has.
The ones she has when she is awake.
Those can't be stopped by waking up, she isn't sleeping.
Suddenly, she feels her throat roar. She can't stop screaming.
...
That night, they are both alone in the dark.
It's the morning after the anniversary of the battle.
She wakes to an empty and cold bed and a heavy heart, wondering if Ron ever came back to bed the night before.
She turns around and looks out the window, the morning sun is shining but it looks cold out. Her eyes catch a piece of parchment laid on her nightstand. She rises and lays her back against the headboard of the bed, not quite ready to get out of bed and face the outside world.
Went to George's.
Don't worry.
I love you.
-R
PS : Happy anniversary.
...
After a particularly tough Auror mission, she is awoken by his warm body against her, grinding.
His lips all over her exposed skin, his hands undressing her and she loses herself in him.
The morning after, he is up before her, and brings her breakfast in bed. He enters the bedroom in all his naked glory, holding a tray, the Daily Prophet tucked under his right arm and a piece of toast in his mouth.
She lifts an eyebrow at him, quite pleased with his choice of clothing and endeared by his gesture, and he blushes slightly. Even though it's far from the first time she's seen him naked, she feels empowered by her ability to make him blush with her stare.
Breakfast is shared in bed, she reads the journal out loud, commenting on it caustically while he feeds her fruits and toasts.
Later they discuss his mission and how he needed her last night when he came home. Those talks are never light-hearted and at least one of them always ends up in tears.
They know too much.
...
It's the evening of his 22nd birthday and they are rowing.
They have mind blowing make up sex. Usually anywhere but in their bed.
She wakes on the hardwood floor of their kitchen, completely naked, her body tingling and sore. His head rests under her left arm, his breath tickling her left breast, already making it hard.
She caresses his hair and looks around, trying to locate her or his wand in the middle of the mess they've created. She sees hers nearby, a few centimetres behind him. Grabbing it will mean she'll have to turn around and push her breasts in his face.
It's an easy decision.
The moment she grabs her wand, his tongue flicks around her left nipple and he hums contentedly, sending vibrations down to her core.
She light-headedly performs a cushioning charm, desire already coursing all over her.
She lowers herself so her face is level with his, her right leg wrapping possessively against his lower back. His eyes are still closed and she takes time to study the lines and freckles on his face, tracing them with her finger.
She caresses the tip of his nose and descends lower to draw the outline of his lips. Her movement is interrupted by the opening of his mouth and his tongue brushing her finger longingly. She swallows audibly.
She is so transfixed by the swirling of his tongue on her finger that she doesn't realise he has opened his eyes until she tries to reattain some composure and lifts her eyes to meet his.
"H-Hi," she whispers, her voice raspy and raw.
He takes her hand away from his mouth and brings his face nearer to hers, stopping millimetres away.
"Hi," he replies softly before crashing his lips on hers, kissing her hard.
When she finally removes her lips from his, she laughs, drunk on his kiss and him.
"You're as old as me now," she grins.
...
When it happens on those nights, she grabs the closest book she finds, holds it comfortingly close against her chest, turns all the lights on and breathes unevenly, willing her dark thoughts to leave her distressed mind and her shaking body.
She can never go back to sleep afterwards.
When the shaking has receded, she gets up, makes tea and switches the nearest book she grabbed in her moment of panic, for one of her favourite books. It's The Contemplations by Victor Hugo, and the pages are so worn out that she has to be extra careful when she turns them. She doesn't want to fix it with magic. It makes it even more special to her. Not everything needs to be fixed with magic.
He comes home in the eerie hour of the morning, the mission longer than both expected. She is curled up on the couch, buried deep in her book and wrapped in his Chudley Cannons blanket, her tea gone cold long ago. She doesn't acknowledge him right away. When she does, she wants nothing else than to hold him and kiss him until her fears disappear.
She knows, shivering uneasily, that her nightmares were once all too real.
For the first time in a long time, she is reminded how vulnerable she really is.
Her heart sinks and she fights back the frustrated tears that threaten to escape her eyes. She wishes with all her might that a kiss and a hug and him would be enough. She hasn't felt this powerless since she was tortured and his brother died and the war left them all broken. She wants to scream until her voice breaks.
She hates this consequence of the war that renders them bare and weak. She despises that they will always be a little broken and they will never be able to mend it.
Not everything can be fixed with magic.
...
It's the night before their wedding. They've been convinced by both their mothers that there is ancestral traditions to follow and that they needed to spend the night separated.
"Raah! I can't do this!"
And she disapparates away, they've never been a traditional couple anyway.
They are awoken by Ginny.
"Come on you two, wake up! It's your wedding day," Ginny chants opening the curtains, clearly trying to stop herself from giggling madly.
Ron grunts some colourful words and moves his hips closer to Hermione's, his left arm grabbing the back of her left thigh possessively. She squints her eyes, and turns around to touch Ron's nose with hers.
"Go away," she mumbles unhappily to Ginny, her right arm lacing lazily around Ron's waist.
"Ok fine, but Hermione I came to check in on you to help you get started before mum arrived. If you'd rather have her finding out you threw ancestral traditions out the window then fine, be my guest," she snorts and leaves.
Hermione bolts upright, sending a disoriented Ron on his back, her body on top of his.
"I love you and I'll see you down the aisle," she grins madly and kisses him three times before Disapparating back to her bedroom.
...
That night, they don't go back to sleep after Rose is put back to bed.
Rose is awake, babbling happily to herself in her crib when she goes check on her.
She decides to leave her be and chooses to settle to a simple task, she makes tea.
Ron comes downstair a little while later, entering the kitchen idly, their four-month old cheerful in his arm.
"Someone's in a good mood today," she grins, moving her fingers to their transfixed daughter's eyes.
"Someone knows it's breakfast time," Ron mumbles yawning, before lowering down to give Hermione a sloppy kiss.
The baby coos excitedly between them.
"Alright Rose, time for breakfast, baby girl," Hermione laughs as she steps back from Ron's embrace and begins to unbutton her dressing gown. The baby seems to understand her mother's words and starts flailing her arms eagerly, giving Hermione a toothless grin.
"I'll have the same once she's done," Ron says nonchalantly, unsuccessfully withholding a smirk as he passes the baby to her.
Hermione rolls her eyes.
...
When she starts her second trimester pregnant with Hugo, all she craves is him.
She hears tiny feet running towards their bedroom. They're still naked.
"Put your pants on! Rose is coming!" she hisses at him, hitting him with her elbows to wake him up.
"But she isn't supposed to be able to get past the charms yet," he mumbles grumpily, tightening his grip on her, his hand laid flat on her extended stomach, near her right hip.
The baby moves and she grins.
"Well your daughter is a witch," she remarks matter-of-factly, pushing him away to grab his shirt off the ground.
She's just finished covering herself when their daughter barges inside their bedroom, bouncing happily and climbing on the bed eagerly, a mischievous grin plastered on her face.
The three of them spend a lazy morning in bed, narrating tales of dragons and elves saved by a king and a brilliant witch.
Every once in a while, their son kicks.
Soon, they will be four.
...
Hugo is born at 3:47 in the morning after a surprisingly short but tough labor, and he is the most gorgeous boy she's seen.
Later that morning, Molly visits them. When she comes in, Rose is following shortly behind, hiding behind her skirt.
"Come on baby girl, come and meet your brother," Hermione tells Rose kindly.
Molly is in tears and engulfs Ron in a crushing hug the minute Rose has climbed on her mother's bed to see Hugo.
"Oh Ronnie! A boy! My baby boy has a baby boy!" Molly's hands squish Ron's cheeks almost comically and Hermione suppresses a giggle at the sight.
"His name is Hugo mum," Ron states with a tired smile and shrugs slightly. His eyes light up as he turns to look at their son in Hermione's arms.
Hermione is suddenly reminded of a much younger him ready to open his gifts on Christmas morning. Her heart swells.
"Would you like to hold your grandson, Molly?" She asks lovingly.
Hermione has very few memories of Molly being speechless. As her mother-in-law nods vividly and Ron grabs their son from her arms, she feels the tears prickling in the back of her eyes at the sight of the matriarch rendered mute by the little bundle sleeping peacefully in his father's arms.
She very much wants to stop time right this moment. The morning sunlight is shining softly through the curtains, Molly's tears are glistering in her eyes, Rose's hair is a fiery mess, Ron looks as if he's been hit twice by a bludger as he passes their baby boy to his mother and their brand new son is yawning in her arms, extending his incredibly tiny arms out to the world.
But Hermione knows time can't be stopped. She smiles and sighs deeply as Rose is burying her nose in her neck.
Now we live.